


Partners

by kinkthatwinked



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Ron Weasley, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Sexual Confusion, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkthatwinked/pseuds/kinkthatwinked
Summary: Set during theGoblet of Firenovel.  Harry’s been informed he has to have a dance partner for the Yule Ball.  He’s refused other girls and put off asking Cho until the last minute, only to find she’s already taken.  Ron, in a veela haze, asked Fleur to much public embarrassment.  Now they’ve just been told that even Hermione and Ginny already have dates, leaving them with few options and very little time.“But Harry had just seen Parvati and Lavender come in through the portrait hole.  The time had come for drastic action.”  J.K. Rowling,Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 22.But what if the girls hadn’t come in just then?  What course of action would Harry, in his desperate frame of mind, have latched onto instead?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the 2017 HP Mini Fest on Livejournal, and thought I'd include it here.
> 
> I can't find my betas here on AO3, but on Livejournal they're known as "betasocks" and "lockel."

“It’s like every girl in Hogwarts has gone off their rocker!” Ron exclaimed, but Harry wasn’t really listening. Christmas Day was less than a week away, and between Cedric already snagging Cho, Fleur able to practically hypnotize any boy who came near her, and Krum’s gang of giggling fans tailing him throughout the castle waiting for him to choose from amongst them, Harry was going to be the only Triwizard Tournament champion who couldn’t even convince someone to attend the Yule Ball with him. Even Hermione and Ginny, two last hopes Harry didn’t even know he had until Ron suggested them, had already been claimed, apparently by boys much sharper and quicker than him.

What was he going to look like when the other champions and their dates strolled out onto the dance floor in neat little pairs, and there he was trying to convince Dean or Seamus to let him borrow one of their dates for a minute … or worse, had no choice but to ask one of the teachers to dance with him? A horrible image flashed through his mind of himself leading Professor Trelawney out onto the floor, her magnified eyes looking down on him with pity, assuring him she had known for weeks that he wouldn’t be able to find a date?

Harry stared at the portrait hole, his back ramrod straight with tension and at odds with Ron’s depressed slump into the couch, willing the Fat Lady to conjure some pretty girl who was miraculously both still available and eager to say yes. The portrait remained closed.

“I didn’t really want to go, anyhow,” Ron declared loudly, but he still sounded too sulky to be convincing. “I wasn’t keen to let anyone see me in that rubbish nightdress Mum bought me, anyway!”

Harry joined Ron on the couch, appearing to slump even deeper than him because Ron was nearly six inches taller. “I thought you wanted to see the Weird Sisters,” he said. Harry, having never heard their songs, couldn’t have cared less, but he’d noticed the way Ron’s eyes lit up when he’d heard about Dumbledore booking the music group for the ball.

“Well, yeah,” Ron admitted, then, muttering, “when would I ever be able to afford concert tickets?” Ron, still mortified by his dazed attempt to ask Fleur to the ball, could hardly be blamed for letting some of his old bitterness slip out just now, Harry thought. His best mate had always been touchy about being poor, especially since Ron’s mother had purchased him a set of old-fashioned, secondhand formal robes for the ball, a frilly, lacy, mouldy thing so effeminate that Ron had initially mistaken it for a dress.

Sensing a slight change in subject was in order, Harry said, “At least you know how to dance.” Ron had complained back at the Burrow about how Mrs. Weasley had made a point of teaching him and the twins how to waltz over the summer before Harry’s arrival. At the time Ron thought it was some mad obsession of hers, but in hindsight he realized she’d been informed by Mr. Weasley about the upcoming Yule Ball, and decided she wanted her boys to have a good showing. Harry had laughed at the time, particularly when a shuddering Fred and George insisted that being forced to slow dance with their own mother had scarred them for life. However, since McGonagall’s revelation that Harry, as a champion, had to dance to open the ball, he wished he’d been there for Mrs. Weasley’s lessons himself. Harry had never danced before in his life, and now he was expected to twirl some girl around a dance floor with the entire school watching. So even if he had found a date, he would still likely look a complete fool come Christmas Night, he thought miserably.

“Fat lot of good that’ll do me, without a dance partner,” Ron answered, interrupting Harry’s train of thought. Ron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head hung, bringing his bright red hair into Harry’s peripheral vision … and it was like that shock of orange against the dark Gryffindor common room furniture made Harry’s thoughts jump tracks.

 _Wait,_ another small, quiet part of his mind said to him, a voice that reminded Harry of the day he managed to throw off Professor Moody’s Imperius Curse. _A dance partner. Not a date, just someone to get you through the opening dance, that’s all you need._ But what girl was going to agree to that, dancing for one song, receiving a quick thanks, and then being left on her own for the rest of the night? Even if Harry could find one, every girl in Hogwarts seemed to be taking this event way too seriously to simply be his “dance partner.” She would expect to be his date, showered with attention and affection, and likely more dancing, for the entire evening.

 _Ron wouldn’t expect all that,_ the voice said.

Harry froze. Maybe someone had cast an Imperius Curse on him after all, because what in the world could have made his brain go there?! 

His thoughts continued. _Attend as friends, you won’t be the only ones, look at Neville and Ginny. Just go, let Ron lead you around the dance floor for a few minutes, and then you spend the rest of the night with your best mate, tossing back butterbeers and laughing about the whole thing._

But, Harry silently argued with himself, but we’ll be in front of the whole school! All our friends – Fred and George will never let us hear the end of it. And oh god, Malfoy and Snape! We’ll probably make the front page of the _Prophet_ once Rita Skeeter gets wind of it!

 _And that’s opposed to what, how low profile you are now?_ His brain shot back. _You’re The Boy Who Lived, and a Triwizard champion to boot. You’ll make the papers no matter who you take, and you’ll be teased no matter who you take. It might as well be someone you’d enjoy spending four solid hours with._  
  
But, Harry insisted, somewhat desperately considering this was just an argument in his own head, but he’s not a girl!

 _Did McGonagall say your dance partner had to be a girl?_

You know what I meant! Harry fired back. It was a strange feeling, to be angry at his own thoughts.

 _Yes, you’re straight. So is Ron. You both know this about each other. So since there’s no chance of any misunderstanding, what’s the big deal?_  
  
Harry felt his mouth open to answer, but whether silently or aloud, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

 _What’s the alternative?_ The voice pressed. _You show up with no dance partner, and Ron doesn’t go at all? How is that better?_  
  
Well … Harry’s eyes went again to the back of Ron’s head, still hanging between his shoulders, and Harry took a second to think about Ron’s predicament: no date, humiliating dress robes, those embarrassing dance lessons over the summer amounting to nothing, and perhaps his only chance to see the Weird Sisters perform passing him by. Ron sighed, and Harry could see that, as loudly as Ron had proclaimed he’d rather go alone than with an unattractive girl, the truth was that without a date Ron would likely spend Christmas Night moping by himself in Gryffindor Tower.

 _No, not a “date.” Just someone to go with him …_  
  
“… A partner.”

“Mm?” Ron sounded, and Harry realized he’d said that last thought out loud.

“Uh …” Harry managed. When he’d reached the conclusion in his head, his body had been perfectly calm. Now that the prospect of voicing that conclusion presented itself, however, Harry’s body seemed to have gone haywire: his heartrate and breathing sped up, his palms began to sweat, and, just as with Cho, he seemed to have trouble getting his mouth around the words. “I … I … w-was just … th-thinking … um … I jus- I mean … maybe w-” Harry finally let out an exasperated sound and stared at his knees.

By now Ron had sat up, peering at Harry curiously. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Harry barked out a laugh at that. What, indeed? Yet, the idea still made a kind of sense. Getting Ron to understand that, however, would be a whole other matter.

“I w-was just thinking,” Harry began again, trying to look Ron in the face as if it were just another typical conversation between them, “that since we don’t have dates, m-maybe we … don’t need dates?” Harry’s eyes found his knees again. “Maybe we could just, um, g-go with friends?” Suddenly the fireplace, which required Harry turn his head completely away from Ron to look at it, became extremely interesting. “I mean, we could … for example, um … go with … each other?”

Ron’s silence, which could only have lasted a few seconds, seemed a lot longer to Harry. When Ron finally let out a chuckle, Harry couldn’t help flinching a little.

“I’ll give it to you, mate, at least you got me to laugh a bit,” Ron said.

Harry could feel irritation crawling over his skin. All the nerve he had to pluck up just to ask, and he got laughed at for his trouble? That was worse than all the giggling girls combined.

“I mean it,” Harry said, the irritation overriding his apprehension. “Come to the ball with me. And – and I’ll need you to have that first dance with me, too.”

The expressions Ron’s face morphed into as he went from waiting for the punchline, to realizing there wouldn’t be one, to wondering why Harry had said that, to finally realizing it was because Harry was serious, should have been comical. As it was, it just made Harry a bit impatient for Ron to catch on. And then Ron, slowly standing up, looking at Harry as if he’d just started speaking Parseltongue again, said, “What the bloody hell are you on about?!” And Harry knew that, regardless of how Ron ultimately answered, they were in for a nice, long discussion that night.

At that moment the portrait hole opened, and the gleeful giggling of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown rang through the common room.

“The way he walked up to me and actually bowed!” Parvati gushed.

“And he kept calling you enchanting, and stunning, and breathtaking!” Lavender sighed.

“And his _accent_!” They squealed together, collapsing in giggles again.

“I can’t believe you pulled a Beauxbatons boy for the ball!” Lavender said.

“I know!” Parvati agreed. “And you’ve got Seamus, both of our dates are gorgeous! This is going to be so much fun!”

The girls stopped short at the sight of Ron and Harry, the former standing and looking dumbfounded, the latter sitting and looking nervous. “Hello, Harry,” Lavender said, looking between the two of them and practically scenting something gossip-worthy in the air. “Everything alright? Got a date for the ball yet?”

Making sure he didn’t so much as glance in Ron’s direction, Harry said no, praying the girls would leave it at that. Of course, they didn’t.

“You can’t find a date?” Parvati said incredulously, while Lavender barely held back a smirk. “You were turning them down left and right for a week, what happened?” In Harry’s silence, she guessed, “the one you were holding out for didn’t hold out for you, then?” Harry’s pink face sent the girls over the edge and they started giggling again, which naturally brought more blood to Harry’s face. 

“How about you, Weasley?” Parvati continued. “Since it didn’t work out with Fleur,” and here their tittering, already unkind, took on a hint of nastiness. Apparently they’d witnessed or heard about Ron’s embarrassing attempt to proposition the French champion. “You’ll likely just ask Granger, right?”

“I – she – she said she already has a date,” Ron stammered.

“ _Granger_ found someone who’ll have her, but you can’t?!” Lavender all but shrieked as Parvati covered her mouth with her hand, which did nothing to hide her laughter. His eyes avoiding all of their faces, Harry was able to see Ron’s hands clench into fists.

And so it starts, Harry thought, the taunting about Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and Triwizard champion, going to the Yule Ball alone. He had hoped he at least wouldn’t have to deal with it until Christmas Night (and for weeks afterwards). He looked miserably up at Ron, whose face wore the same burning humiliation. The girls, finally getting their laughter under some control, offered less than sincere apologies and reassurances the boys would find dates eventually, sang, “Well, goodnight!” and went up their staircase, their renewed giggles echoing down well after their departure.

Harry looked up to remind Ron that they still had a few days left until the ball, there were over a hundred girls at Hogwarts, surely they couldn’t all have been asked already. They could even ask first and second year girls if they had to. Ron was glaring at the staircase Parvati and Lavender had just climbed, face still red, fists still clenched.

“Sod it!” Ron suddenly erupted, making Harry flinch again. God, he hadn’t been this jumpy in his own skin when he faced Voldemort, both times. What was it about the prospect of asking his best friend on a non-date that had him so on edge? “Let’s do it!”

“W-what?”

“We’re going to the bloody ball!” Ron clarified, still appearing angry enough to put his fist through a wall.

“Y-yeah, alright then,” Harry said.

Ron stood there a few seconds more, still seething, then turned and marched up the boys’ staircase, evidently deciding their talk was over and it was time for bed.

Harry sat for a minute after Ron had gone, reviewing the day’s events in his head. Just that morning he and Ron had made a pact to have dates before the day’s end. In that time they’d managed to get shot down by four girls, both privately and publicly, informed that Neville Longbottom had found a date before they did, ridiculed by two of the most attractive girls in their year, and finally agreed to attend with each other. It had been, to put it mildly, a rather unpredictable twelve hours.

Well, Harry thought as he heaved himself off the couch and headed upstairs, at least I have a date – _partner_ – for the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • So, the first chapter of my story goes on the assumption that the same Beauxbatons boy who ends up spending most of the Yule Ball with Parvati anyway asked her out in the Great Hall during dinner, instead of waiting until the ball to approach her like he does in the book. Him asking Parvati out is why she and Lavender were delayed in returning to the common room.  
> • And yes, I like the idea that if Molly Weasley knew about the Triwizard Tournament, and subsequently the Yule Ball, she might insist her boys learn to waltz, without telling them the real reason she suddenly wants them to learn. Just like she insisted they take dress robes that year, but instead of telling them the full reasons why, she simply said it was on their supply list.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, that didn’t take long, Harry thought dully. News that he hadn’t found a date for the Yule Ball had spread like wildfire. Virtually overnight, students from the other three houses had added sniggering to their usual repertoire of staring, pointing, and whispering in his vicinity, while fellow Gryffindors shot him sympathetic looks. Even the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students seemed to have heard. Their faces held a kind of cruel triumph every time they crossed paths with Harry during meals in the Great Hall; while their champions, Fleur and Krum, were either tied with or behind Harry in Triwizard Tournament points, they certainly hadn’t encountered any obstacles in finding dates. A few Hogwarts girls, either too young to attend on their own or unable to secure dates, had approached Harry since the news broke, but they did so with a kind of smug surety, assuming he’d be so desperate at this point they needn’t fear rejection.

“No, that’s alright,” he politely responded to the girls who offered their company as if they were doing him a huge favour, secretly enjoying watching the magnanimous expressions drop from their faces. He and Ron had wisely taken a leaf from Hermione’s book and not told anyone exactly who they were taking to the ball. As no one really cared who went with Ron, he wasn’t peppered with questions like Harry, except by those trying to get him to reveal Harry’s plans.

“If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you, wouldn’t he? Bugger off!” Ron would snap at them. It only took a couple of days for people to tire of having their heads bitten off until they stopped asking.

As for Ron’s take on the whole idea, Harry didn’t exactly know. The morning after Harry’s invitation, Ron asked Harry to join him for a walk. Once outside on the freezing, deserted grounds, Ron blurted out “Are we really doing this, then?” Harry explained the previous night’s reasoning through chattering teeth, and Ron, his nose red and running, grunted when Harry was done. Harry could only assume Ron agreed with his logic because he suggested they head back inside as if the conversation were finished, or maybe Ron decided arguing his point of view wasn’t worth developing frostbite. Once in front of the common room fire, however, Ron said, “I would’ve found my own date eventually, you know.”

“I know,” Harry lied. Just asking Ron for something like this would test their friendship, could possibly damage it, yet Ron was willing to take that risk because Harry needed him. The least Harry could do was spare his mate’s feelings.

In the days leading up to Christmas, Harry occasionally caught Ron staring at him over a chessboard or a game of Exploding Snap, examining him as if Ron were trying to read his mind. But apparently Ron had decided the idea wasn’t completely mental, since he hadn’t changed his answer. In fact from the look of it, Ron wasn’t even interested in finding a date anymore, striding right past girls instead of sizing them up as he had just a few days prior. 

Harry certainly identified with that. The pressure to find a date had been lifted, leaving him feeling a stone lighter. Hallways full of girls no longer felt claustrophobic, and Christmas became a holiday again instead of a deadline. He could spend his break relaxing, reading his Chudley Cannons book, or watching the twins test their products. Even enduring Hermione’s nagging about the golden egg felt soothing, compared to how he’d felt in the days before he’d approached Cho.

* * *

Forget Muggle alarm clocks, Harry thought as he clutched his chest, his heart pounding under his palm, nothing wakes a person up quite like having a house elf’s huge eyes inches away from their face. Dobby, still apologizing, held a haphazardly wrapped package in his hand, which Harry correctly assumed was his Christmas present.

By the time Harry had pulled on Dobby’s offering (mismatched socks the elf had knit himself), and he was sure his dormitory mates were thoroughly distracted by their own gifts, he leaned in and said in a low voice, “Thanks for this, and … you know, the other thing.”

Dobby shot a quick glance at Ron from the corner of his eyes, nodded, then put a finger to his smiling lips in a “quiet” gesture Harry was glad Ron and the others hadn’t seen. He knew he ran the risk that Dobby might answer him in some ridiculously loud stage whisper or something, but Harry found he couldn’t help himself – there were only two other souls who knew what he had planned, and one was in front of him. “It should be here this morning,” he said into Dobby’s large, floppy ear.

Dobby looked toward the window, then with a cry ran toward it and threw it wide open. Harry could have yelled at him for the indiscretion, until his brain caught up and he realized what must have prompted such a reaction. Seconds after Dobby opened the panes, as Ron and the others protested the blast of icy air, a barn owl swooped in carrying a long and wide, yet rather thin, box. The owl dropped the package atop Harry’s mess of wrapping paper, and took off again. With a wink to Harry, Dobby made his goodbyes and scurried off to the kitchens.

“Who’s got an owl delivering on Christmas morning?” asked Neville.

“And it didn’t even want a tip! That’s unusual,” observed Seamus.

“Large package, but it must be pretty light if only one owl carried it,” marked Dean. “Who’s sending you last minute stuff, Harry?”

But Harry quickly tucked the box under his bed. “I’ll open it later,” he said. “Let’s head down to breakfast, I’m starving, can’t wait to see what kind of food they have to impress Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for Christmas.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “Open it, go on!”

“Later,” Harry insisted, already out of bed and pulling on clothes. It only took a minute or so of talking about how the house elves were probably outdoing themselves yet again until Ron’s stomach growled and the subject of the box was dropped. Ron didn’t even mention it at breakfast, perhaps sensing that Harry didn’t want to discuss it in public, or he was simply too busy stuffing his face with food. 

As soon as they returned to the common room, however, Ron was upstairs like a shot. Harry followed to find the box back on his bed, Ron waiting impatiently.

“C’mon,” Ron said, “Let’s see what you got, and who sent it!” Ron obviously hadn’t forgotten the last time Harry received a mysterious Christmas gift it turned out to be the Invisibility Cloak. Harry reckoned that only deeply ingrained manners had kept Ron from tearing the box open himself. Harry hoped his friend’s apparent good mood, helped along by a trunk full of presents and a tummy full of food, would last after the box was opened.

“Go ahead, then,” Harry said, working to keep his voice even. “It’s for you.” Ron’s confused face went from Harry to the box, then back to Harry again. Then Ron sat down on the bed, unknotted the string holding the box shut, and opened the lid.

The dress robes and trousers were a striking shade of royal blue, draped across a crisp white shirt accented with a waistcoat and bow tie, both a soft black. The material looked and felt like a combination of silk and satin. There was even a pair of smart shoes inside, black and polished to a high finish.

“What the –”

“I hired them.” Somehow it seemed the most pertinent thing for Harry to say. “They go back to Madam Malkin’s tomorrow.” To anyone who didn’t know Ron that would sound harsh, especially on Christmas, but Harry had banked on that bit of information quelling Ron’s anger.

He bet wrong. The speed at which Ron’s face went from pale to pink to red would have made anyone else lightheaded. “What’s the matter,” he growled, finally making eye contact again with a look that made Harry want to shrink into the wall, “worried I’ll make you look bad in the other ones?”

“What? Ron –”

“This must have cost a bloody fortune, I don’t care if it’s hired or not! How much did you spend on it?” Ron demanded, then again when Harry stayed silent, “How much?!”

“It’s not import-”

“More than I’ll ever see, I reckon,” Ron let out a bitter laugh. “More than I’ll ever make in a lifetime! Maybe one day my grandchildren will be able to pay you back –”

“I don’t care about the money spent, you prat!” Harry had had about enough of this, of feeling like he was walking on eggshells every time he wanted to buy Ron something, even for Christmas, because he might spend more than Ron’s pride could handle.

“I care!” Ron exploded, “I don’t want to walk out there in something that everyone can tell with one look that _I_ didn’t pay for, that _no one_ in my family could have afforded! I – we – bloody hell, Harry, we’re not your bleeding charity case!” Ron’s fists were clenched again, and he looked for all the world like he wanted to punch Harry, but his eyes were swimming.

“When have I EVER treated your family that way?!” Harry bellowed. “I’ve never done that to any of you, yet every time I pull a single Galleon from my pocket you act as if I’m boasting or something! What the hell do you want me to do, _apologize_ for my parents leaving me money?!”

By this point, Harry had his hands in fists as well, hoping Ron would throw a punch. _That’s_ how Ron believed Harry saw him, how Ron thought Harry regarded the family he’d grown to love more than his own? For the second time that year, Harry wanted to chuck something at Ron’s head. Where were those stupid POTTER STINKS badges when you needed them?!

“You know what, wear whatever you want, I’m with your mum – you can go starkers for all I care! This was supposed to be a way to thank you for going with me, because without you _I_ would be the one looking like a bloody idiot tonight, getting laughed right out of the ball, and the robes on my back wouldn’t make a bit of difference!”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “You’d still show up with me even if I wore the robes Mum gave me?”

Harry nearly shouted yes, when a months-old image flashed through his head, and he suddenly fought a small urge to smile. “Borrow old Archie’s nightdress from the Quidditch World Cup if you like, just get me through that opening dance, alright?!” 

It took Ron a moment to work past his current emotional state and pull up the memory; when he did, he gave Harry an almost bemused look, as if he couldn’t believe Harry was bringing up something that ludicrous at a time like this. Just like that, the angry tension in the air was broken, if not completely dissipated. Ron looked down at the box again, then over to his closed wardrobe where they both knew the antique dress robes hung. Then he huffed out a small laugh. “Well,” he began, “as pleasant as a ‘nice breeze around my privates’ sounds, I think I’ll stick with the choices I’ve got.”

“Great,” Harry said, relieved. Ron’s face was still a rather deep pink, and Harry’s own breathing was still returning to normal, but at least they weren’t shouting anymore. And Ron hadn’t broken their da- agreement, so that was something.

The rest of their day went well; apparently leaving the final decision on his attire solely up to Ron was the right move. Only at seven o’clock, with the sky darkening and the Yule Ball an hour away, did things begin to get tense again. Sweaty and dishevelled from their afternoon snowball fight, Harry and the Weasleys headed for the showers. Harry couldn’t help feeling nervous, as he would soon have the eyes of the entire student body upon him, and not because he’d caught a Snitch or even captured a golden egg from a Hungarian Horntail, but because he’d be dancing. Truth be told, he’d rather face the Horntail again.

The usual shower room banter didn’t happen that night, as they were eager to just get clean and get ready. Well, the twins were, at any rate. Fred had Angelina waiting for him, and George had scored a date with the very same fifth year girl who’d earlier asked Harry, the one he’d declined because she was a foot taller than him. Quite ironic now, considering who he’d be dancing with instead. 

Once the twins had left, Harry looked over at Ron, who moved as if it were the last shower he’d ever take in his life and he aimed to make it last as long as possible. Harry, soaping his own stomach for the third time, had some idea how he felt. As much as he told himself what they were about to do was no big deal, they were just going as friends, _straight_ friends, it wasn’t a date or anything, the fact remained that he was about to invite a room full of people to observe as he was swept across a dance floor in the arms of another boy. That had to be a statement of some kind, Harry just wasn’t quite sure what the statement was, or if he entirely wanted to make it. Apparently Ron felt the same trepidation.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he had no idea how gay people got on in the wizarding community. Were they embraced, barely tolerated, ridiculed, shunned? Would the same people who knew of phoenixes and unicorns, who accepted the existence of stones that grant immortality and hourglasses that turn back time, still close their minds to two men kissing … or two boys dancing?

“What?”

Harry couldn’t remember how long he’d had his head turned in Ron’s direction, but his musing must have gone on a little too long. “Sorry,” he said, fixing his gaze on the tiles in front of him. Rule number one of communal shower etiquette, keep your eyes to yourself.

“No, what?” Ron repeated, and Harry realized his friend was grasping for a distraction, an escape from his own train of thought.

“I was just …” Harry began, and decided to share an earlier thought, “I was just thinking that you’re tall enough for me to tuck my head under your chin.” Harry attempted a smile. “How do you think people would react if we did that on the dance floor?”

Ron’s eyebrows crawled up to his hairline before he smiled, too. “I’d think you actually _wanted_ to make the front page of the _Prophet_!” and, pointing at Harry’s chest, “You just make sure Skeeter spells my name right, got it?”

“I’ll make it a condition for the exclusive interview.”

“Cheers, mate.”

With a bit of the tension broken, and his hair squeaking as he ran a hand over it, Harry finally had to admit he was as clean as he could possibly get. He left the shower to towel off, Ron following shortly after.

“You know,” Ron said, his back to Harry, his tone suggesting he was testing the waters, “under normal circumstances, this would probably be a bloke’s ideal date.”

“How do you reckon?”

“Well, I haven’t taken you to dinner yet, or taken you dancing yet, or even dressed up.” At this point Ron smiled over his shoulder at Harry, “but I’ve already seen you naked.”

Harry heard himself snort out a laugh. “You’ve seen it all in the showers for years now, actually!”

“Yeah,” Ron considered. “You’re a bloody excellent date, mate!”

“Well, don’t get too excited,” Harry warned, waggling a finger at Ron as they headed back to their dormitory, “letting you have a peek is as far as I’m prepared to go!”

Ron mock whined and called him a tease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • It was never mentioned in the books, but communal showers at Hogwarts makes sense, doesn’t it? It would also explain why the prefects having their own private bathroom, complete with a tub, is such a big deal.


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing Ron in his underwear lately made Harry think about, of all things, genetics. Aside from their red hair and freckles, Arthur and Molly Weasley were physical opposites. Where Arthur was tall and skinny with narrow shoulders, his wife was short, with a wider frame to carry her naturally heavier build. Uncle Vernon had called her dumpy, but really Molly was what would be considered curvy, and she probably caught many a man’s eye in her day. Arthur, Harry believed, was and always would be a beanpole, not weak or fragile, just extremely lean.

As a result of their union, their children were an interesting mix: various eye colors, unpredictable freckle patterns, and, between Arthur’s fiery orange and Molly’s deep auburn, every shade of red hair under the sun. As far as physiques went, however, their kids had clearly chosen sides. Bill and Percy, tall and thin, took after their father, while Charlie and the twins, with their average heights and thickset builds, paid homage to their mother. With Ginny it was too soon to tell, but in her Harry envisioned a tall, willowy female version of her father.

Ron, though, was another matter altogether. Several inches taller than Harry since the day they met, Ron had continued to shoot up over the years, with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Since he’d also been thin all his life, smart money would have pegged him as an ectomorph like Arthur. Puberty, however, begged to differ. Ron’s shoulders had broadened considerably recently, and whatever time he’d spent at the Burrow riding his Cleansweep Seven and swinging gnomes had left him with solid legs and arms that, with some conditioning, could easily grow into muscle bulk, so Molly’s genes were making their presence known. Putting his envy aside (why couldn’t _his_ growth spurts be that dramatic?), Harry felt glad for his friend. Ron would definitely be turning some girls’ heads soon, if he wasn’t already.

Ron, completely oblivious to Harry’s observation, stood facing his open wardrobe. On opposite sides hung the robes Mrs. Weasley had bought and the ones Harry had hired. He didn’t seem to be looking at either article, just staring at the wardrobe’s wall.

“Ron?”

“She’ll expect me to wear it,” Ron said quietly, turning to face Harry. His look was pure guilt. “She didn’t have much gold, we never do, but she spent all we could afford on it. She probably spent hours combing through charity shops trying to find the best ones, too. That’s what she does, see. That’s why she got so upset when I complained about it, it was like I was saying her best effort wasn’t good enough or something.”

And this, thought Harry, was just one of the reasons Ron deserved the expensive robes, because he would chuck them in the nearest bin with hardly a second thought if he believed wearing them would hurt his mother’s feelings. He didn’t tell Ron this, of course; blokes didn’t do things like that.

Ron turned back to the wardrobe, frowning at the ugly frock and determinedly not looking at the sleek robes on hire. Then he clenched his jaw, squared his shoulders, and started pulling the older dress robes on. The mouldy lace cuffs barely reached his wrists, making it painfully obvious that even this, along with just about everything else he’d ever owned, was the wrong size for him. Ron stood before Harry, his ears already turning pink. “I suppose I’m ready.”

With no idea what to say to his friend, Harry simply nodded and focused on getting himself dressed. Unable to remember his mother and hardly caring what Aunt Petunia thought of him, he’d never had the experience of a guilt trip from a mother figure before. The closest he’d ever come was the time Mrs. Weasley sent a Howler to Ron for the flying Ford Anglia he and Harry had both commandeered to travel to Hogwarts. But even that guilt-by-proxy was enough for Harry; he couldn’t begin to guess how to ease Ron’s.

Soon Harry was ready as well, his own brand new, shimmering green dress robes bringing out his eyes, just as Mrs. Weasley had predicted.

“You look good, mate,” Ron managed a small but genuine smile.

Harry wouldn’t insult Ron’s intelligence by returning the compliment, so instead he said, “Thank you again for this.”

Another quick little smile, and then Ron proffered his arm. Harry took it, both of them ignoring the lingering odour of whoever owned those dress robes before Ron, and they headed down the staircase to the common room.

Among the sea of excited, chattering students, their multicoloured robes such a jolt from the usual mass of black that it nearly hurt Harry’s eyes, the red hair of the Weasley twins still stood out. Harry and Ron, in a silent mutual decision to get it over with, made a beeline for them.

“Evening,” Harry said, doing his best to tune out the gasps and exclamations of the Gryffindors around him.

“Hi,” Ron said, the arm not linked with Harry’s extended as if to say, do your worst.

Harry waited for the ribbing to start, but nothing came. What he did get were identical looks of surprise, puzzlement, and then … annoyance?

“You git!” Fred said, his eyes roving distastefully over Ron. “You actually chose these robes?”

George fanned the air. “The ones that make you smell like an old woman, yes, obviously the clear winner.”

Ron opened his mouth, but Fred cut him off. “You really think we’d be upset Harry thinks you’re worth new robes? Envious, more like.”

“You don’t think we’d be a bit more embarrassed our prat of a brother would rather go out there looking like Great-Aunt Muriel?” George added.

“Reckon if they were here, Mum and Dad would have some choice words for you about showing proper gratitude when someone gives you a gift,” Fred declared, his twin nodding.

Harry’s head whipped around to Ron. “You _told_ them?!” But even before he finished the question, he could tell by Ron’s face he hadn’t said a word.

“Oh, we heard your little spat about the robes this morning,” George supplied. “We were on our way up to drag Ron back downstairs. Christmas, family day, you know.”

“Didn’t say anything, thought maybe he’d come to his senses on his own,” Fred mourned, shaking his head. “Clearly we underestimated how thick he is.”

“Oi!” Ron had finally found his voice.

“We apologize, Harry,” said George, as each twin hooked a hand under Ron’s armpits and began bodily dragging him back towards the boys’ staircase. “But your date’s not quite ready yet. He’ll need a few minutes.”

“Gerroff!” Ron protested, but the Quidditch Beaters were as brawny as Ron was tall, and he was no match for their combined strength.

“Might have a little chat with him ourselves, sort him out a bit,” Fred added as the crowd, enjoying the show, easily parted for the Weasley trio.

“B-b-but –” Harry stuttered.

“We’ll have him pretty in no time!” they chorused, taking the steps two at a time, Ron still sputtering in indignation as he was unceremoniously dragged along.

Harry stood there, now unable to block out the hundreds of shocked and intrigued eyes upon him.

“… It’s not a date,” he finished weakly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I think I remained mostly faithful to Rowling’s description of the Weasleys’ physical features, though I may have filled in a few blanks. With Ron, however, I definitely took some liberties. I just picture him as well built, especially since he ultimately became a Quidditch Keeper. Harry, on the other hand, was malnourished for ten years of his early childhood, and that should show, too (which, coincidentally, is why he’s the perfect build for a Seeker).  
> • Since Fred and George burst into Harry and Ron’s room to make sure they all spent Christmas together in the first book, I figured it was a family tradition.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry stared into the fire, trying not to panic as the Gryffindor common room steadily emptied. Eight o’clock was fast approaching, and though Harry wasn’t exactly looking forward to the clock chime before, he positively dreaded it now that Ron wasn’t beside him. Harry realized he had underestimated until this moment just how much easier this whole situation had been when he could just turn his head and see Ron dealing with similar stress.

The Weasleys had been upstairs for nearly fifteen minutes, a lifetime it seemed. Meanwhile Professor McGonagall might have wanted the champions to show up early. At this rate, Harry might arrive a few minutes late.

Suddenly one of the twins came bounding down the stairs. “Can’t keep Angelina waiting,” he said, thus identifying himself as Fred. “Go on to the entrance hall, Ron will meet you there.”

“What’s taking him so long?” Harry demanded.

“Like I said before, he needed a right talking to, but don’t worry, George is finishing up. See you there!” With that, Fred disappeared through the portrait hole.

Great, just walk out there and have all those people, half of whom had probably heard what happened in the common room, see him showing up alone. But somehow, sitting there until he was quite possibly late was worse; Harry never was one for staying put and doing nothing. So he walked toward the portrait hole, straining his ears with each step for the sound of Ron’s feet on the stairs. Hearing nothing, Harry left the common room.

The entrance hall was jam packed with students, but Harry could see the Triwizard Tournament champions lined up along one wall like they’d been arranged there. Standing with them was Professor McGonagall, who glanced rather nervously up the stairs. Upon seeing Harry, her face quickly switched to impatient. Raising her bony hand, she beckoned him down the stairs with a look that promised detention if he didn’t hop to it. Harry saw several people look up at him, the Slytherins sniggering loudly at his lack of a date, the Gryffindors craning their necks to locate Ron. At times like this there was always a small part of Harry that wanted to curl in on itself, but he never gave in; if anything, it made his back straighten and his chin raise a little higher. Sometimes he wondered if that courage was some genetic holdover from his parents, or if life with the Dursleys had instilled a bone-deep belief that he could handle anything after surviving them. Either way, it served him well that night as he walked down the stairs looking as calm as if he were strolling down for breakfast.

He did nearly trip over his own feet, however, as he noticed Krum’s date. Hermione didn’t even look like the same girl. Everything, from her dress, to her hair, to her makeup _(makeup!)_ , to the way she carried herself spoke of a womanhood she had kept well under wraps until that night. There was no other word for it, she was stunning. Harry doubted he would ever see her the same way again after this. Then gasps sounded all around Harry, someone said “Whoa,” and for a moment he thought they’d all recognized Hermione at the same time he had. Then he noticed they were all looking up the stairs he had just descended. Harry turned around, and if his mouth hung open at the sight of Hermione, now his jaw hit the floor.

Had he just regarded Hermione as stunning? Ron was … well, “Whoa” pretty much covered it. Like Hermione, it wasn’t just the clothes, or how Ron must have gotten his hands on some hair gel. It was the _way_ Ron stood there, like he knew the proverbial spotlight would be on him and he’d decided to revel in it. Yet his stance wasn’t cocky, just confident, forcing Harry to realize how seldom he saw that in his friend. Unable to take his eyes off Ron as he descended the stairs, Harry also noted that Dobby and Madam Malkin had done their jobs well – the dress robes draped Ron’s body as if he’d been personally fitted for them. His broad shoulders made the robes look even more regal, his wider chest and tapered waist were accentuated by the cut of the shirt and vest, and the newly formed muscles in his legs filled out the trousers nicely. Any other colour might have clashed dreadfully with Ron’s bright red hair, but it turned out that the perfect complement to a vibrant orange is an equally vivid blue. On the whole, Ron looked … he was just … he was … standing directly in front of Harry, waiting for him to say something.

Harry fumbled for words – somehow “you look good, mate” didn’t quite cover it – and ultimately all Harry could manage was a whispered, “Wow.”

Apparently, that worked. Ron’s face split into a nervous, grateful grin. Harry’s eyes traveled over him again, intending to simply tell Ron the robes fit him well, and suddenly an image of how Ron looked underneath those clothes, disturbingly accurate as Harry had seen him in the showers not thirty minutes earlier, superimposed itself: the new definition in his arms, the light dusting of hair across his chest, the barest indentations of a six pack, all leading down to –

A small thrill of emotion raced through Harry, familiar and unmistakable. Yet it confused and frightened him beyond anything he’d experienced thus far, because until this moment that feeling had only sparked when Harry, late at night and alone in bed, undressed Cho Chang in his mind. Desire. One could even go so far as to call it lust. And he’d felt it for _Ron_.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall cut into his thoughts, in a tone that suggested her patience had worn thin.

Harry tore his eyes away from Ron with effort. “Y-yes, Professor?”

“Is your dance partner in the vicinity?”

“Yes, I am,” Ron answered as Harry, a bit overwhelmed, could only look up at him in response. Harry barely heard the ripples of conversation that radiated from their spot through the crowd at this confirmation.

“Very well,” McGonagall replied without missing a beat – if she was surprised, she hid it well – and gestured to the wall. “Do line up with the other champions, please.”

Again Ron crooked his arm towards Harry. His bicep, no larger than it was yesterday, held a new fascination now; Harry had to resist the urge to squeeze it under his palm. He also had to suppress the wave of panic in him at this new turn in his thoughts.

This was a stupid idea, a horrendously bad idea. His brain wouldn’t even be entertaining thoughts like this if none of this had happened, if he hadn’t ever been forced to think “Ron” and “dance partner” in the same sentence! He wouldn’t be getting confused, going mad, picturing his best friend naked! What was wrong with him?! 

As if on cue, Ron leaned into his space to whisper, “Alright there, Harry?” And god, the twins had even convinced Ron to use aftershave. Harry had no idea what it was, but it made him want to bury his face in Ron’s neck, maybe leave a love bite to show his appreciation. Where in the hell were these thoughts coming from?!

“Yeah,” Harry managed, “just nervous about dancing.”

Dancing. Harry still had to dance with Ron, with everyone scrutinizing them, trying to discern if there was anything between them. And he had to keep this newfound burst of strange feelings tightly buttoned down so Ron wouldn’t notice and get freaked out. And after all that, they still had to be friends afterwards.

Ron’s handsome face (when did he become handsome?) softened in understanding. “Don’t worry, mate,” he assured Harry, flexing his arm to squeeze Harry’s hand against his side, “we’re going to be fine.” Harry felt his face flush.

Yes, this truly had been a _horrendously_ bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I can certainly understand and appreciate Rowling not going into graphic detail concerning the effects of puberty, but I personally think there’s just no way a fourteen year old boy isn’t undressing attractive people with his eyes yet. Harry’s still a good kid, just one with hormones.  
> • I submit that if Ron can suddenly notice that Hermione is beautiful just because she got all gussied up for the ball in GoF, then Harry can suddenly realize Ron is hot as soon as he gets cleaned up, too.


	5. Chapter 5

As the other students filed into the Great Hall, it was as if they couldn’t decide who was more deserving of their stares: Fleur, Hermione, or Ron. The champion couples themselves had clearly decided on Harry’s partner. Krum relaxed his grip on Hermione’s waist as he watched them together, perhaps satisfied that neither of his date’s closest male friends posed a romantic threat. Cedric actually leaned over to congratulate Harry, and admitted he’d “always wondered about you two.” Cho looked confused, and even a bit jealous – but jealous of what, since she was there with Cedric? Hermione, however, looked thunderstruck, and it was only Krum’s nudging her to follow him inside that got her to plaster a rather tight smile across her face. Fleur, for her part, had simply quirked up her lips at them, then went back to basking in Roger Davies’s unwavering attention; Harry doubted Davies even knew Ron was there.

The champions walked in to applause and all eyes on them as they made their way to the head table. Well, if there was anyone left in all of Hogwarts who didn’t know who Harry asked to the ball, or how Ron had transformed himself, they all knew now. Harry placed his feet carefully, not just because he didn’t want to go arse over tit and give people like Malfoy reason to laugh, but also because he didn’t want to take away from Ron’s moment. Ron had never had the chance to go to an event like this, dressed like that, and have so many people so very aware he was there. Right then, even with Harry standing beside him, Ron was the celebrity.

As they reached the table, Percy, apparently standing in for Barty Crouch, pulled out a chair for Harry. Knowing Ron would pay him back for it later, Harry took the seat adjacent to the offered one, leaving Ron no choice but to sit next to his brother. Percy immediately broke the news of his promotion and proceeded to sing the praises of Mr. Crouch, who according to Percy had taken ill. Ron, either because he’d read Harry’s mind, or to exercise his right to annoy his older brother, or because he just wanted Percy to shut up, asked if Crouch had stopped calling him Weatherby yet. Percy flushed red and glared at him, but didn’t answer, which pretty much ended that conversation.

Harry stared at his empty plate, lost in his own thoughts. Why did it feel like some switch had been flipped inside him, leaving him so hyperaware of Ron he could barely think? He found himself reviewing every crush, every fantasy, every wet dream, and not once had a man entered the picture. He hadn’t secretly sighed over Gilderoy Lockhart in his second year. Yes, he could see how blokes like Bill Weasley and Cedric Diggory would catch a girl’s attention, but they didn’t catch his that way. He saw Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins in the showers after every Quidditch practice, was surrounded by his dormitory mates as they undressed for bed every night, and he didn’t suddenly wish to ogle them. So why should Ron, who only agreed to this whole thing to spite Parvati and Lavender, who had Harry ready to throttle him that very morning, who was a _bloke_ , for god’s sake –

“You’re not eating?” Ron asked.

Harry started. Everyone else at their table had a plate full of food. Looking around, he spotted someone at another table with an empty plate. The girl looked down at her plate, spoke to it, and a small salad appeared. Okay, then. Harry ordered, and tucked in with the rest.

Then, the moment arrived. The floor was cleared of dining tables, the Weird Sisters took the stage, and the other champions stood up. Harry’s legs felt rubbery, and he perhaps held Ron’s arm a little tighter than necessary as they walked out onto the floor. They’d practiced, of course – with Harry having zero dancing experience, Ron got the idea they should remain in the common room one night after everyone else had gone to bed and get a quick lesson in. After thirty minutes of stumbling, stepping on Ron’s feet, tripping over his own, and even falling over at one point, the boys were forced to conclude there was only one way this would work. As the Weird Sisters started playing, Harry grasped Ron’s shoulder with his left hand, allowed Ron to clasp his right hand, and bent his head to look down at Ron’s feet.

Harry couldn’t completely tune out the sniggers; he knew how he must look, making it so painfully obvious that he couldn’t dance. Ron had assured him they would just assume Harry found it difficult to dance the woman’s part, which was essentially dancing backwards, but Harry was sure they could all tell he had two left feet. He focused on Ron’s hands pushing and pulling to direct him, kept his eyes trained on Ron’s feet for clues where to step, and trusted Ron to not crash them into anyone as the floor filled up with other couples.

“You’re doing brilliantly,” Ron murmured to him. Harry wanted to look up and gauge Ron’s face to see if he meant it, but he didn’t dare if he wanted to get the steps right. He also couldn’t afford to let his eyes wander since the twisted part of his brain that found Ron suddenly irresistible had been begging him to raise his eyes a little bit, as he could probably detect the outline of Ron’s cock in his trousers. Chin firmly planted against his chest, Harry kept his eyes glued to Ron’s feet like his life depended on it.

“I see Potter got you some suitable robes, Weasel. You almost look like you’re good enough to be here,” came the inevitable, unwelcome drawl. “I suppose it’s clear now how you convinced him, isn’t it? Did he let you spit, or did you have to swallow?” 

“Keep your fantasies to yourself, Malfoy,” Ron said evenly, but his hand gripped Harry’s a bit tighter. Harry continued following Ron’s lead, now in more ways than one. If Ron went after Malfoy right there on the dance floor, then so would Harry, and they’d do detention together. But if Ron could settle for verbal comebacks while still waltzing, then Harry could play it cool, too. For now.

“I can see why you did it,” Malfoy continued, making a point to steer Pansy Parkinson so he dogged Ron’s steps. “The whole school would know you’re the woman in bed if you’d shown up in that _dress_ you had.”

The hand around Harry’s waist clenched as well. Harry really wanted to check his friend’s face, or at least shoot Malfoy a threatening glare, but if Ron was still dancing, then so was he.

“Or maybe you’ll be thanking him properly later. I guess we’ll know if you have trouble sitting down at breakfast tomorr- OWWW!”

“Sorry, there,” Fred apologized, as Angelina tried hard not to laugh. “I’m terrible at this, I’m even stepping on other couples' toes!” Harry, his eyes on the floor, caught how Fred had slammed his heel down onto Malfoy’s foot like he aimed to break it. With yelled curses that led to McGonagall subtracting twenty points from Slytherin, Malfoy hobbled off the dance floor.

Harry heard a snigger above him, and chanced a glance at Ron’s face; he was sharing a wink and a smile with his brother. Then Ron smiled down at him, and Harry felt his feet stumble under him. He collided with Ron, and Ron’s arms immediately wrapped around him, the taller, stronger body holding them both upright.

“Whoa, hey, only one fumble so far,” Ron said, “not bad.” Fortunately the floor was so crowded now that not many people saw it. Harry really hoped they didn’t see how he had to make himself let go of Ron as he righted himself.

Finally the waltz ended. It was over, they’d done it! Even with everything else on his mind, Harry couldn’t help answering Ron’s triumphant grin with a relieved smile of his own as they applauded the Weird Sisters. The band struck up another song, this one faster, and Harry could tell from the crowd’s reaction that it was a popular one. “Let’s go!” he yelled at Ron, and started weaving his way through the crowd towards the stage. Judging from the students already crowded around the stage and cheering on the band, Harry knew he and Ron weren’t the only ones planning to regard the rest of the Yule Ball as a Weird Sisters concert.

Ron and Harry spent the next several numbers dancing – if one could call jumping up and down, headbanging, and pumping fists into the air dancing. They were hardly alone, as the Weird Sisters’ style definitely fell into the Muggle music category of hard rock. Ron was having the time of his life, Harry could tell: loudly singing the lyrics to every song, yelling himself hoarse after every number, flushed and sweaty from dancing, and wearing an exuberant smile Harry hadn’t seen since the Quidditch World Cup.

They sat down when the band took a break, Ron raving about how great they were, when Harry noticed Hermione striding towards them. Though she’d spent the evening dancing and smiling as hard as anyone else, now she looked upset again, as if she’d just remembered she was cross at them for whatever reason.

She stood before them, hands on her hips. “So? Are you ever going to explain why you didn’t tell me?”

The words “Tell you what?” were out of Harry’s mouth before he realized what she must have meant. She looked at him, astonished.

“About this!” she said, her hand waving between him and Ron. “We’re supposed to be friends! You couldn’t even be bothered to mention you’re together now?”

And again, Harry’s recent epiphany concerning his feelings for Ron sat heavily at the forefront of his mind. Since the waltz ended, he had managed to spend nearly two hours just enjoying Ron’s company as a friend, and it had been fantastic, carefree, just like the last three years. Now he noticed how Ron’s hair had broken free of its gelled style and curled over his forehead, how he’d undone his tie and top button to reveal a trickle of sweat making its way down to the hollow of his throat. Thank you so very much, Hermione, Harry thought.

Ron bristled. “We’re not ‘together,’ we came as friends.”

Hermione blinked. “Wha- really? I thought … the way you … and Percy just told me –”

Ron’s eyes flashed, and he stood up. “We came as friends,” he repeated, enunciating each word. “And anyway, who are you to talk about friends sharing stuff, you never told us about you and Krum!”

“I –” Hermione only needed a moment to adjust to the abrupt change in subject. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make fun of me!”

“Well, I didn’t tell you about this because I didn’t need you having a go at me again for that thing I said about Eloise Midgen looking like a troll!”

“Well, you would have deserved it!” Hermione snapped. “That comment was completely uncalled for!”

“For the love of god, you two!” Harry interrupted, and they both looked at him like they’d forgotten he was there. Usually Harry kept well away from their increasingly frequent fights, but he was a bit on edge that night, and he’d had enough. “You’re both right, you would have gone for each other’s throats if you’d known who you were taking, so you _both_ kept secrets! Can you call it even and give it a rest for one night?!”

With appropriately sheepish expressions, Ron and Hermione apologized, then stood awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

“You look pretty tonight,” Ron mumbled finally.

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Thank you, Ron,” she said after a moment, and then, “You – you look rather dashing, yourself.”

Ron’s back straightened, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “Harry paid for the robes,” he admitted.

Hermione, also long used to Ron’s prickliness about money, promptly said, “Then he must have decided you’re worth it. And I agree with him.”

Ron didn’t hide his smile then, and Hermione gave him a hesitant one in return. 

A swell of applause from the crowd alerted them the Weird Sisters had again taken the stage. “D’you, um, you think Krum would mind … if we had a dance?” Ron asked.

Hermione smiled again. “I suppose not, if it’s just the one,” she said.

Harry watched them go, arm in arm, easily the two best looking people there in his opinion, Fleur Delacour be damned. Ron swung Hermione in his arms around the floor, the pair casting shy glances and smiles at each other, and a surge of envy towards Hermione shot through Harry, one that for the first time had nothing to do with her marks.

“Well,” someone said next to him, and Harry turned to see Percy. “I suppose my brother has decided he truly doesn’t care if the entire wizarding world knows.”

With no idea what Percy was talking about, Harry could only stare at him.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course,” Percy amended, “but I’ve always personally felt that, once you tell the people who actually matter, family and close friends and such, everyone else can learn in due time, whenever the topic arises, you know. I mean, really, it’s not as if he was planning to date everyone in the world, so why make an announcement of it? But there he is, hardly finished outing himself to the entire school with you, now proclaiming just as loudly his continued interest in the fairer sex by making eyes at Hermione in the middle of the very same dance floor! I ask you, what’s next, taking out an advert in the _Prophet_?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He and Ron had invited this, after all. Starting with Hermione, they would probably spend months reassuring people they were straight and this wasn’t a date. Well, Ron would say both those things; Harry had some thinking to do about the straight part, apparently.

“I mean, Mum and Dad took it alright when he told them,” Percy continued, “probably because as long as he’s only bi they can still hold out hope for grandchildren. Fred and George teased him mercilessly, but that’s Fred and George for you. Bill and Charlie congratulated him like he’d accomplished something,” Percy sniffed. “I wished him the best of luck, of course. I don’t think Great-Aunt Muriel will be so accepting, but to that I say, the ones who matter don’t care, and the ones who care don’t matter, wouldn’t you agree?”

Was this what it felt like to get hit on the head by a Bludger? Harry thought dimly. He nodded dumbly, his eyes unfocused, and vaguely heard Percy turn to converse with Ludo Bagman.

Ron was … bisexual? And he’d come out to his entire family? When?! Why hadn’t any of them said anything? Why hadn’t _Ron_ said anything?! 

“Alright there, Harry?” Ludo asked, looking concerned.

“I –” No, no, not at all. “I need some air.” Harry all but ran out into the entrance hall, down the front steps, and once outside he let his feet carry him, not really caring where he ended up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I do regret losing the part where Harry hears Dumbledore’s story about the chamber pots, since it’s obviously foreshadowing for the Room of Requirement, but Harry should be too distracted here to really listen to others’ small talk.  
> • I never bought that part of the movie where Harry, after never dancing in his life, knew the steps to that waltz, including when to help Parvati jump in the air. He should be a complete klutz, like Neville stepping on Ginny’s toes in the book, unless he’s looking at his partner’s feet.  
> • I think Hermione would be just as shocked to see Harry with Ron as the rest of the school was to see her with Krum, not to mention a bit insulted they didn’t confide their plans to her. And while she’s usually right, I would think she’s not above a bit of hypocrisy, especially in the heat of an argument.  
> • I also believe that if my version of Ron is self-aware enough to come out as bisexual, then admitting he found Hermione pretty at the Yule Ball would be easy in comparison.


	6. Chapter 6

Several things within Harry warred for dominance. He felt betrayed, as Ron seemed to have told everyone except his own best friend. Confused at his own attraction, even wondering if Ron somehow gave off the vibes that sparked it. Tricked, since Ron had to know the assumption that they were both straight was one of the main reasons Harry was able to go through with this arrangement. Hopeful, because maybe, just maybe Ron could have similar feelings for Harry? Panicked, because what the hell would that mean for them if he did? 

“Harry!” Ron ran up behind him, frowning. “Why’d you run off like that? What’s going on?”

Harry opened his mouth, no idea where he was going to start, ultimately a little surprised himself when what came out was, “Percy?!”

“What?” Ron looked around, expecting to see his brother.

“I had to hear about it from _Percy?!_ You told your parents, your brothers, but not me? Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, and you couldn’t trust me with this?” Even to Harry’s own ears, he sounded like a whiny girl, but he couldn’t help it. Together they’d faced a troll, a lethal obstacle course, a horde of hungry giant spiders, gone after a basilisk, and faced down Sirius when they thought was a serial killing Voldemort supporter. How could Ron think someone who’d had his back for all of that might turn against him over fancying men?

To Ron’s credit, he didn’t ask what Harry was talking about. Harry took the horrified look on his face as an admission of guilt, and stormed off again. Ron followed him, but didn’t say anything. Probably still working on his excuse, Harry thought bitterly. 

They both stopped when they heard voices. Karkaroff and Snape, talking about something becoming clearer, Harry neither knew nor cared what. After ruining a few snogging sessions by blasting the lovers’ rosebushes into twigs, Snape rounded on them.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Trying to find a secluded rosebush of your own, I suppose?”

Harry’s head whipped around as Ron shot back, “And so what if we were?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for that cheek, Weasley! I suggest you and Potter find somewhere else to become better acquainted. Since you sleep only a few feet away from each other – _presumably_ – I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities!” With that, Snape stalked off, Karkaroff right behind him.

Harry rounded on Ron. “Is that what we were trying to do?” he snarled.

“Harry, no, I didn’t mean,” Ron began, and then his voice changed, sounded almost weary. “I’m a bit tired of not saying what I really want to say, alright? Tired of worrying people might hear it and think I … think I’m queer.”

“Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Harry said. “Congratulations. Glad I could help you with that. Brilliant coming out party, this was. Course, it would have been nice to _know_ that’s what I was doing!”

“That’s not what – is that what Percy said? I could kill him!” Ron glared back towards the castle.

“Good luck with that. I’m off.” Harry started walking again.

“Harry, I meant to tell you,” Ron said, following him. “I was planning to tell you, I was just trying to work out how.”

“You told your mum and dad! How could telling me be harder than that?”

“Because I was afraid you’d …” Ron faltered. “I thought you might …”

“What? Call you a poof? Hit you? Never speak to you again, except to shout bugger or queer at you? Well, I suppose you’ve got the measure of me! Apparently, I’m just like my cousin!” Somehow it was that, the idea that Ron believed Harry was no better than Dudley, that hurt the most. 

“Harry, no, I –”

“No, really, it’s nice to find out that’s the kind of wanker you think I am, after knowing me for over three years. Good to know that’s how I come off!” Harry hated himself as he began to feel tears stinging his eyes. He started walking again, grateful it was so dark.

Ron’s voice was pure desperation. “I thought you’d write me off when I told you I fancied you!”

Harry’s pace slowed as the words sank in. Still not quite believing what he’d heard, he turned to face Ron.

“I told Mum and Dad first because I _wanted_ them to know first, alright? They’ve always been on my side, and I needed to know if they would for this, too. Same thing with my brothers and Ginny. And if you’re wondering why none of them said anything to you, it’s because I asked them not to. I wanted to tell you and Hermione myself.

“But there was more to it with you. I _know_ you’re not like your cousin, you’re nothing like him. But … I was scared, alright? You’re my best mate, I nearly messed that up a few months ago, and I didn’t want to risk that again. I didn’t even want to risk making things weird between us. I knew I had to tell you, but then I’d have to tell you _all_ of it, and … blimey, Harry, how do I tell my straight best friend I’ve wanted to snog him silly for years now without freaking him out?”

Feeling clobbered with a Bludger for the second time that night, Harry couldn’t even decide which aspect of that confession to address first. He felt a weird, almost maniacal urge to laugh bubble up inside him, and when it burst forth at last, it came on the word, “ _Straight?!_ ”

Ron’s brow furrowed.

“Do you – any idea – do you know – the whole night – _hours_ – since you showed up in those bloody robes –” Harry knew he wasn’t making much sense, but those were all the words he could manage in between the near hysterical bouts of laughter. It was just too much in one night, Harry was officially overwrought.

“Um,” was all Ron could offer, and Harry thought, sod it, he’d clarify it for him.

Feeling like he’d been waiting for it all night, Harry walked right into Ron’s space, grabbed his head, and pulled him down into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • To all the Snape fans out there, I hope I got his characterization right, even if it’s just a few lines.


	7. Chapter 7

“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew.” *

Harry halted, feeling Ron do the same beside him. He had never heard Hagrid use what could only be described as his bedroom voice, and Harry could happily go the rest of his life never hearing it again.

The boys were behind a huge statue of a reindeer, though not nearly as humongous as the people they were inadvertently spying upon. Hagrid and Madame Maxime appeared to be in rather intimate conversation, and Harry would have given anything to be able to grant them their privacy, while hopefully finding some of his own.

Just minutes ago, Harry had kissed Ron. To the outside observer, it might not have been anything to write home about, it may have even looked chaste, just two barely opened mouths pressing their dry, chapped lips together. For Harry, however, after a night of hardly being able to think about anything but getting his skin in contact with Ron’s, it was like fireworks. He ran his fingers through Ron’s hair like he wanted to make sure he’d touched every strand, mapped his face, stroked his ears, massaged his neck, dipped his fingers below the opened shirt button, went after every inch of exposed skin he could reach. Ron, for his part, after his wide, shocked eyes finally closed, wound his arms around Harry and pressed their chests so close together Harry could feel Ron’s heart pounding along with his own. When they broke apart to breathe, Harry knew it wasn’t the lack of air that left him dizzy.

Ron stepped back, and for a moment Harry wondered if he’d done the kiss wrong, but Ron grabbed his hand and started walking fast.

“What –” Harry began.

“Rosebush,” Ron answered, a hungry edge to his voice, “ _now_.” Harry smiled and followed.

Their search, unfortunately, led them toward the fountain, and that was how they found themselves skulking behind an enormous reindeer, listening to Hagrid spill his scandalous secret to a near stranger, while watching Fleur and Davies behind their own clump of bushes doing exactly what Harry and Ron were itching to do. The boys watched as Hagrid laid himself bare for Maxime, only for her to throw it back in his face and storm off in denial, leaving Hagrid, if possible, more alone than ever.

“Let’s go back in,” Ron suggested afterwards, quietly. Somehow, after seeing their friend get his hopes dashed and possibly his heart broken, the mood had been lost. Harry did note that Ron held his hand the entire way back, and he smiled in response when Harry interlaced their fingers.

The Yule Ball was in its final hour, the Weird Sisters playing more slow songs now. Hermione danced with Krum, and something he said made her throw back her head and laugh. The boys found a table away from potential eavesdroppers, and compared thoughts on the conversations they’d overheard.

When their discussion reached a lull, Harry asked, “So, when did you know, or suspect? That you were, you know?”

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ron’s face turn pink so fast. “Um, a while. Years. And it took me nearly that long to work out it wasn’t just a phase.”

“When did you tell your family?”

“This summer,” Ron replied, “before you got there.”

“Does Hermione know?”

“I hadn’t told her yet, but I reckon she does now, thanks to Percy,” Ron scowled.

“But if you asked him not to say anything –”

“I asked him to keep quiet until I told you. Suppose he reckoned that since we showed up at the ball together I must’ve done it.”

Harry looked over at Percy, still schmoozing with whomever he could get to sit still. So the evening wasn’t exactly Percy’s fault, sort of.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“Are you still into birds?”

“Yeah,” Harry said immediately. It was true, he found girls just as attractive as before.

“Do you still like Cho?”

“Sort of,” Harry said, then took a gamble. “Do you like Hermione?”

Ron started, blushed again, then looked out at the dance floor, where again her laughter rang out like a bell.

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted with a small smile. “I mean, I had no idea she … well, she was a mate, wasn’t she? I kind of saw her like I see Ginny, you know? And now … Merlin, _look_ at her! She’s –”

“Beautiful,” Harry finished Ron’s thought. “She always has been, really.”

They watched her and Krum, and Cho with Cedric, on the dance floor for a few minutes, then Harry asked, “So what does that mean for –” he pointed his finger at Ron and himself “– this?”

Ron looked at him, then covered Harry’s hand with his own. “I suppose it means we’ll need to talk about whether a bloke can still date girls without upsetting his boyfriend?” He sounded unsure, his eyes nervously searching Harry’s. He needn’t have worried. Any answer that confirmed there would be more chances to kiss Ron was exactly what Harry wanted to hear. He smiled and squeezed Ron’s hand, and Ron grinned back.

FLASH! The camera caught them both completely by surprise. Blinded, Harry and Ron never even saw the photographer’s face before he was lost in the crowd again. If it was Colin Creevey, Harry swore he would break that camera over the kid’s head.

“Yeah, time to call it a night,” Harry declared, at the same time the Weird Sisters announced the last song.

“Wait,” Ron grabbed his arm. When Harry looked back at him, he smiled shyly. “Last dance?”

This time Harry didn’t need to watch Ron’s feet, as they weren’t waltzing; in fact, they were barely moving. Arms around each other’s waists, Ron’s head bent down to touch Harry’s, they swayed to the music with their eyes closed.

* * *

Harry returned to the common room, tugging at his bow tie and still puzzling over Cedric’s advice. Honestly, Harry hadn’t said, “it’s something scaly,” or “wear fire-retardant underwear,” he said it was a dragon and they had to get past it. Why couldn’t Cedric have said something that specific? Take a bath, really?

He found Hermione waiting for him, still in her dress, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Well,” she said, “it certainly looks like you’re together now.” She barely held back a satisfied smirk.

What the hell, Harry decided, it was hardly a secret now. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“I _knew_ it, I could see it in the entrance hall the moment you laid eyes on Ron. Everyone could see it!”

“What did they see?”

Hermione rolled her eyes in that ‘you are so dense’ way that Harry knew all too well. “The whole time Ron was on the stairs, you stared at each other like you were the only people in the entire hall.”

“Well –”

“You were also looking at Ron like you wanted to rip his clothes off,” Hermione said matter of factly.

Harry spluttered, and Hermione giggled at him. Then she sobered and asked, “Harry, are you okay with all of this?”

“I … don’t know. I don’t know if I’m bisexual now, or if I even count as that if I only like the one bloke. I don’t know how this is going to work, or what will happen when I like a girl. I –” and Harry sighed, facing his worst fear, “I don’t know if I’ll still have my best mate if we break up.”

He was looking into the fire, so he didn’t know Hermione had approached him until he felt her hands on his shoulders. She pulled him into a hug.

“I’m pretty sure Ron has some of the same worries,” she said. “And I’m also quite sure that, after all you’ve survived, it would take a lot more than a breakup to tear him from your side.” She pulled back to look in his eyes. “The same goes for me, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Now go on,” she pushed him towards the stairs. “I’m sure he’s waiting up for you.”

As he went, Harry remembered Ron’s proposal about dating girls on the side. He hoped Ron made that work with Hermione, because she could make for an incredible girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Quote from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ , by J.K. Rowling, Chapter 23.


	8. Chapter 8

The dress robes lay neatly folded and tucked back into the box. Ron stood over them, back in his too-short pyjamas, his hand smoothing out the dress shirt. He turned as Harry entered.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I never thanked you for these earlier, did I?”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad I did it,” Harry said. “You looked … really sexy in them.” There, he’d said it aloud, put to words what he’d felt tonight. Instead of bringing on a small panic attack like it would have only an hour or so earlier, it just felt right.

Even in moonlight, Harry could see Ron’s ears go pink. “And now I’m back to these,” he gestured down at his pyjamas, and towards his wardrobe of faded, ankle-baring school robes and worn, hand-me-down clothes.

 _And you’re still beautiful,_ Harry thought, but even with all the unexpected turns their relationship dynamic had taken tonight, it would still be weird to tell Ron that – they weren’t girls, after all. Of course, Harry realized, with that same frisson of heat he’d felt earlier, he could always show him.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor leading to their room, the voices of Dean, Neville, and Seamus bouncing off the walls. Thinking fast, Harry grabbed Ron’s arm, pulled him into his four poster bed, and closed the curtains. Snatching his wand off the nightstand, he said, “ _Quietus_. No, wait, um, _Silencio_? No, um …” Harry let out an impatient noise. Where was Hermione when you needed her?

“ _Exmundius_ ,”* Ron suggested, still wide-eyed at Harry’s daring, waving his hand in the air to demonstrate the wand movement. Harry copied him, and a shimmering bubble emerged from the tip of his wand, enlarging to enclose them and the bed before solidifying into a kind of transparent shell. Their dormitory mates’ voices cut off as if someone had pressed the mute button on a TV remote control. Harry looked at Ron in surprise.

“Yeah, and they can’t hear us, either,” Ron supplied.

“I’ve never seen this spell before.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have, would you? They don’t teach this one till seventh year, I think.”

“How do you know it?”

“I grew up with five older brothers, Harry, I’ve known that spell my whole life! The Burrow’s not great for, well, privacy.” On that last word, Ron curled his fingers to meet his thumb, then shook his hand back and forth near his crotch in an obvious gesture. Harry snorted out a laugh.

“So,” Ron said, inching forward on his knees until he was well in Harry’s space, “I never got around to kissing my date goodnight, did I?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry reminded him, smiling.

“It was for me,” Ron said, and captured Harry’s lips with his own. It should have felt strange, kissing another boy. Where Harry had been conditioned to expect yielding lips and maybe a hint of perfume, there was a strong jaw working against his own, and faint traces of the aftershave that had nearly driven him to distraction earlier. Not interested in closed mouth kissing this time, Ron suckled Harry’s lips, traced them with his tongue, practically begging for entrance. Harry couldn’t have resisted even if he’d wanted to. God, when had Ron learned to kiss like this? Ron’s tongue darted in, lightly massaged Harry’s, then pulled away so that Harry chased him, copied the technique. Eventually they came up for air after repeating that sequence several times, tongues exploring deeper with each turn. Ron’s hands were tangled in Harry’s hair, and Harry’s hands gripped Ron’s shoulders.

“Was –” Harry gasped. “Was that your first kiss?”

“Course not,” Ron breathed. “We kissed earlier tonight, remember?”

“You know what I mean.”

“There might have been one other boy,” Ron admitted after a pause. Then, at Harry’s look, “How do you think I worked myself out? You don’t think I just woke up one morning and accepted fancying blokes, do you? I had to find out for sure first.” 

Harry didn’t know if he was jealous, curious, or grateful. Perhaps all three at once.

“And what else did your bloke teach you?”

Ron’s eyes darkened. “To show you that, you’d have to lose some of these clothes.”

Harry hesitated. Snogging was all well and good, but he hadn’t really thought beyond that. Well, alright, he had, he’d been thinking about it all bloody evening, but there was a big difference between fantasizing and actually doing it. Ron picked up on his nerves.

“What’s wrong?”

But what could Harry say? He was the one who dragged Ron into his bed and shut the curtains! What was Ron supposed to think? Of course he was expecting … _that._ “Um,” Harry began, “Could … could we not … um … just yet?” And then, desperate to clarify, Harry started babbling. “It’s just I’ve never even had a finger up there, and yeah, I’ve thought about it, I’ve thought about all kinds of stuff tonight, but I don’t even have any lube, and I don’t know if you do, but even if you did, I mean, that is, unless you want _me_ to do it to _you_ , and I suppose if you’re ready I could try that, but –”

“Whoa, hang on!” Ron held his hands in the air. “I wasn’t talking about anything, you know, hardcore,” he said quickly, with a blush. “Truth be told, I’m not ready for all that, either. But there’s stuff we could do that wouldn’t, you know, hurt or feel weird or anything.”

“Oh,” Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief, “okay,” then he huffed out a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

Ron breathed out a laugh, too. “S’alright. I’m glad you said something, really. Better than going into it when you don’t really want it.”

“I do want it,” Harry said instinctively, surprising himself and Ron, “and I want to do it to you, too. Just … somewhere down the road, maybe? We’ve got time, right?”

Ron looked at Harry like he was the most amazing thing in the world. It made Harry squirm a bit. “Yeah,” Ron agreed, “plenty of time. C’mere.”

They kissed again, and this time Ron’s hands were a bit busier, unknotting Harry’s bow tie, pulling open his shirt and vest buttons, pushing all the garments off his shoulders to pool on his bed. Every place Ron’s fingers touched him left his skin tingling. Harry couldn’t take his hands off Ron’s arms, squeezing and stroking the lean muscles as if trying to make up for not appreciating them sooner. Then Ron took the hem of his pyjama top and pulled the whole thing over his head, and suddenly Harry found other things more fascinating than Ron’s arms. He absolutely needed to know how firm Ron’s pecs would feel under his hands, how Ron would react if Harry licked his nipples (a jerk and a soft gasp), if Ron had a ticklish navel (he did). Harry worked his way back up Ron’s torso, his mouth exploring up front while his hands mapped Ron’s back. Amazing, just a few short hours ago Harry had never even considered touching another male body, and now he couldn’t imagine ever _not_ wanting to touch Ron, taste his skin, make him gasp and sigh like this.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, and gently pushed him away. Ron sat back, breathing a bit heavier than before. Then, looking at Harry as if to gauge his reaction, Ron hooked his thumbs into his pyjama bottoms, and pulled them and his underwear down past his feet, leaving them bunched on the mattress behind him.

Harry hesitated to look, and couldn’t understand why. He’d seen it before, had countless chances over the years. But this was different, this was an invitation to stare, to study, to desire. He looked at Ron’s face instead, and saw a need that hadn’t been there before. Ron leaned in to kiss him again, then rested their foreheads together.

“C’mon, Harry,” Ron murmured, “look at me.”

Surrounded by a nest of wiry, reddish orange hair, Ron’s cock jutted straight up, pointed at Harry as if returning his stare. Turned out it was true what they said about blokes with big feet – true in Ron’s case, at any rate. Harry found himself extremely glad they’d established there wouldn’t be any penetration happening tonight. Harry saw a hand inching towards Ron, and realized it was his own. He jerked it away, but Ron gently caught his wrist and guided him back.

“It’s okay,” Ron said.

It felt warm and heavy in Harry’s hand, heavier than his own. A hint of its scent, pungent with arousal, reached Harry’s nostrils. With a jolt, Harry realized he’d like to get closer, inhale that smell, learn the taste that went with it … and at the same time, he knew he wasn’t ready to do that tonight. It was just something he knew he would do, would _want_ to do, another time.

Bringing his other hand into it, Harry gave Ron’s cock a gentler version of the stroking, squeezing attention Harry had paid to his arms, also curiously tracing the wrinkled sac behind it with his fingertips. Ron’s hips kept twitching, his hands fisting and releasing the sheets. His gasps and sighs graduated to moans, and he bit his lower lip.

“Harry, stop!” he pleaded.

Harry snatched his hands away as if burnt. “What’s wrong?”

Ron gripped the base of his cock with his hand as he got his breathing back under control. The sight of him, stark naked, his hand fisted around his own cock, staring at Harry like he wanted to eat him alive, made Harry’s already uncomfortable trousers downright unbearable. “Sorry,” he said, figuring this wouldn’t help Ron maintain his control, and kicked off his trousers and underwear to join his pile of dress robes.

Ron whimpered. “That’s … that’s just what I was going to ask you to do.” Ron drank in the sight of him, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. In the mirror Harry always saw someone shorter than most boys, skinnier than most kids, with a cock that he supposed was average at best. Ron, however, ravished Harry with his eyes, like he was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Letting go of himself, Ron crawled on all fours towards Harry, kissed him deeply, then started kissing his way down Harry’s body.

How Ron stayed still when Harry did this to him, Harry would never know. He felt like he was trembling and gasping every time Ron’s lips touched him, squirming and whining whenever Ron’s tongue left a wet trail, jumping and yelping with every tiny nibble of Ron’s teeth. When Ron buried his face in the thatch of hair below Harry’s navel he nearly cried out loud … and when Harry felt kisses and licks along the underside of his cock he _did_ cry out loud.

After laving and bussing Harry until he couldn’t remember his own name, Ron rested his head against Harry’s stomach. “Sorry,” Ron whispered, and he did look it, “don’t mean to be a tease, but I don’t really know how to do it, and I don’t want to get you with my teeth or anything. But I’ve got an idea for something we can do. Lie back.”

Unable to form a sentence, much less argue, Harry did as told. Ron laid down on top of him and, after stealing another kiss, lined up their hips. Harry felt the weight of Ron’s heavy cock pressing down on his own. “Oh, god!” And here he thought he was past words.

Ron began to move, slowly, propping himself up at the elbows, his hands on either side of Harry’s head. Before he even realized he was doing it, Harry spread and bent his legs, planted his feet on the mattress, and started rocking in time with Ron, who moaned his appreciation. Harry’s hands found Ron’s bum, firm and with its own thin scattering of hair. He kneaded the flesh under his hands, and Ron’s moans increased in volume. He dragged his fingernails along the skin, and Ron hissed, not entirely in pain. He spanked him, and with a yelp, Ron began to thrust faster. Finally, Harry’s finger circled his hole, and Ron whined, rolling his hips, and Harry knew, just _knew_ Ron was dying for him to slip it in. _We’ll try that, too,_ Harry thought, _we’ll get there_.

It didn’t matter that there was no penetration, that no one had gotten sucked, that a proper hand job hadn’t even been given. This was sex. Ron loomed over him, rutting hard now, one arm stretched out above Harry to hold the headboard, his face contorting into something primal as he chased his orgasm. Harry, sure he was leaving bruises and fingernail marks in the meat of Ron’s arse, bucked up into him wildly, his grunts getting louder in his ears, his jaw almost hurting from clenching his teeth.

With a roar that sounded like it started somewhere around his toes, Ron came, splashing Harry and the headboard behind them. The look on Ron’s face, almost a rictus of pain, then morphing into pure bliss, made the fire that had been raging through Harry’s skin, his muscles, his mind, finally fly up and out. Muted, almost as if from far away, he heard himself scream, saw his body bowing through unfocused eyes, but all he really knew was the feeling, soaring, skyrocketing, more amazing than anything he even knew he could feel.

* * *

Harry woke to find Ron, his head propped on one arm, smiling down at him. Harry preferred it by far to waking to Dobby’s face inches from his own. He fumbled for his glasses, smudged and half under the pillow, to get a better look; he couldn’t even remember when they’d fallen off.

“Morning,” Ron whispered. His hair was a tangled mess, he had morning breath, there was crust in the corners of his eyes, he smelled of the sweat he’d worked up last night, and his voice was rough from sleep. Harry thought he looked gorgeous.

“Hey,” Harry whispered back. He stretched languorously, and felt a really nice tingle wash over his skin. He imagined his body would feel the aftereffects all day.

“How’re you feeling?”

“M’alright,” Harry smiled. “You?”

“Well,” Ron laid back and rested his hands behind his head, “Last night I had a shag with the famous Harry Potter, so I’d say my day’s starting out pretty good.”

“And was I everything the rumours claim?”

“Well, I didn’t get the dirty talk in Parseltongue, you don’t seem to have a fetish for having your scar licked, and I don’t recollect you begging me to call you ‘Dark Lord Killer’ in bed, but other than that you weren’t bad.”

Harry sat up, laughing. “You’re joking! People really say that?”

“That and more, mate, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Harry shook his head. “Well, I guess we’ve given them plenty more to talk about now.” He looked at Ron in concern. “Are you ready for what’s coming? The teasing for coming out will be bad enough, but now they’ll all be calling you ‘Harry Potter’s boyfriend.’”

Ron smiled. “I _am_ Harry Potter’s boyfriend,” he said, getting a smile out of Harry, too.

“You know –”

“Yeah, Harry, I know what you mean. I won’t pretend there won’t be times when I’m ready to thump someone … probably Malfoy, but he brings that out in me, anyway. But I said it before, I don’t want to hide. And I’ve faced death every bloody year since I met you – I still have nightmares about those spiders – this isn’t much compared to that. Besides, I sort of took the risk of people talking when I agreed to go to the ball with you, didn’t I?”

Harry considered this. “Right, okay.” Then, “At any rate, you’ll finally get some of that attention you think I enjoy so much. See how well _you_ like it.”

Ron looked abashed. “Harry, you know I never meant any of that, right?”

“I know,” Harry said, already regretting bringing it up again, “and I told you to forget it.”

“No.” Ron repositioned himself so that he knelt, straddling Harry. “No, I won’t. I almost lost my best mate over that, and now it turns out I could’ve missed my shot at a lot more. I’m sorry.”

Harry ran his hands up Ron’s thighs, still marvelling that it was allowed, that he wanted to, that they both got pleasure from it. “You weren’t going to lose me. You were about to get your arse kicked, but we would have still been friends after that. Look, if you won’t forget it, can we at least leave it at ‘I forgive you?’”

Ron had that expression on his face again, the one that made Harry uncomfortable last night, like he thought Harry was the eighth wonder of the world or something. Then he smiled, said “I think I can do that,” and leaned in for a kiss.

There would be jeers, Harry knew, rumours and taunting. Some from people who hated gays in general, others from people who envied him or Ron in particular, and yet still others who just needed to hurt someone. Ron’s resolve that he’d rather live in the open would be sorely tested, as would this new relationship and maybe even their friendship, perhaps to the breaking point. And of course, now Ron had an even bigger target painted on his back, the better for Harry's more dangerous enemies to aim.

But right then, with Ron pressed against him, surrounded by his scent and lost in his kiss, Harry couldn’t be bothered to care. Ron was like a Christmas gift that Harry never even knew he wanted, and the best one he could ever have hoped for.

Two months later, when the second Triwizard Task chose Ron as the treasure Harry would miss above all others, no one was surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The _Exmundius_ spell came from an excellent Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover fic called “Old Country,” written by Astolat: http://intimations.org/fanfic/supernatural/Old%20Country.html or http://archiveofourown.org/works/164479


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